


a taste for the forbidden

by demonicweirdo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, First Kiss, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Salem Witch Trials, Witch Lydia, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicweirdo/pseuds/demonicweirdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles narrows his eyes. “I haven’t been doing anything to you.”</p>
<p>

“Bullshit,” Derek snaps.</p><p>

The air in the room grows colder. “I swear it. The only magic I’ve used around you is to make your crops grow!” Stiles takes a step away. “How could you think that I would… You know what? Screw you, buddy. I’m sick of walking in circles around you.” His words are sharp and annoyed, and his shoulders are tense, as though he’s preparing for a fight. “You feel something for me? Wow, it must be sorcery! Because - what? I’m not good enough for your feelings, Derek?” he snarls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a taste for the forbidden

**Author's Note:**

> This is very historically inaccurate. I am sorry :/  
> Also, this is set during the Salem witch trials, and I don't know, I thought I would throw the characters in there and see where it led.  
> If anything is spelled wrong, it might be my British(ish) grammar maybe, so sorry for that.

Stiles Stilinski was the village enigma, and no one really knew why.

He got along with everyone. He was quick to smile, quicker to laugh, and, unlike the rest of Salem, seemed to genuinely care about people.

So Derek never understood why smiles were returned with scowls as soon as his back was turned, why the townspeople whispered suspicions instead of praise over his astounding medical practices.

Because of this, Doctor Stilinski has many patients but little friends. Derek found himself being one of them.

“Derek!” he exclaims, leaning on the fence bordering Derek’s cabbages.

Derek doesn’t bother looking up; he’s inspecting the cabbages for slugs. “What do you want now?”

Stiles is quiet for a second, which is unusual enough for Derek to look up. He’s got a grin on his face, one of the more charming ones, and his gaze flickers across Derek in amusement. Derek would feel self-conscious of the dirt and soot smeared across his clothes, but for the equally dirty clothes that Stiles wore.

“So there’s been an outbreak of… deadly things. Diseases. Famine. All the big players,” Stiles replies, his smirk telling Derek he wasn’t serious. “I need more chamomile.”

Derek straightens. “I don’t have… what, chamomile?”

Stiles nods. “It’s at the front of your house.”

Derek waves a hand. “Take it,” he says gruffly.

The grin Stiles gives him warms Derek up more than a roaring fire, and Derek looks away from him. “What’s it for?” he asks awkwardly, not wanting him to go so soon.

Stiles shrugs. “Some people have trouble sleeping. Since… you know. The burnings started.”

Derek noticed Stiles’s eyes grow darker. He takes it as a sign of how much Stiles hates witches; they all do. Derek has more cause to hate them than most.

Stiles clears his throat, the first sign of discomfort that Derek has seen from him. “What are you doing?”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles for a second, wondering if someone so interesting and vibrant would care about anything that Derek was doing. Hell, sometimes Derek needed to take a break from his farm, it got so boring.

“Slugs have been eating my vegetables,” Derek explains. He almost cringes; Stiles doesn’t look disinterested, though. He looks intrigued, and he bends down, reaching through the fence to lift a cabbage leaf up. He tilts his head and his hand comes away with a slug between his fingers. He grins at Derek.

“And here we see the common garden slug best the feared and infamous Derek Hale,” Stiles teases. He waggles his eyebrows and throws the slug in Derek’s direction. Derek dodges is and glares at him.

“Seriously, dude, why don’t you just be a lumberjack? You could charge people a fee to watch you chop wood.”

Derek doesn’t dignify the comment with a response, but some stupid part of him wants him to smile at the insinuation that Stiles finds him attractive.

Stiles turns back to the village. The droop of his shoulders is tired, and Derek wants him to stay on the farm with him, just for his sake. The people in that village can suck the soul out of you.

“I’m moving,” Stiles declares quietly. All the laughter had gone out of his voice, and he doesn’t look at Derek. “I’m leaving Salem with my sister.”

Derek nods, even though Stiles can’t see him. Inside, he’s panicking. Stiles is one of the only people who actually visits Derek, the one person Derek might be able to call a friend. Derek had been noticing the restlessness in Stiles for a while, but to hear the words leave his mouth like a condemnation, it shocked the protest out of Derek.

“Where….” Derek clears the lump from his throat. “Where will you go?”

Stiles sighs. “West. From there, I don’t know.” He turns back around, and his eyes are light, lighter than they had been these past few months. “I’ll finally be free.” There’s a small smile on Stiles’s face, and Derek understands what it’s like to be a movable object in the way of an unstoppable force. This place was too small and mundane to hold the likes of Stiles Stilinski in it, and Derek couldn’t possibly think of asking him to stay. What are his reasons?

_Because you’re my friend_

_Because you make my day a little less tedious_

_Because you remind me how to look forward to tomorrow_

Derek just ducks his head, and when he meets Stiles’s eyes, he says, “Good luck, in whatever you chose to do.” The shovel in Derek’s hands is grounding him to the earth. He can’t move, he can’t give Stiles a hug (not that he remembers how to hug people), and he can’t shake his hand. He’s stuck in this farm.

Stiles opens his mouth hesitantly, but both of their ears pick up shouting and clamouring from the village. His face falls slightly. “I wonder who it is now,” he says quietly.

Derek grunts in reply, not bothered by it all. One less witch to fear, one less witch for Derek to hate.

“Look, we’ve still got a week in this hellhole,” Stiles starts. His fingers are twining with each other nervously as he looks toward the village. “I’ll get the chamomile another time.”

Derek watches him stride away, his footsteps long and hurried, and tries to imagine him walking away for good. It’s easier than he’d like to admit.

* * *

Derek’s woken from his dreamless sleep by hurried bang on the door. He’s standing in an instant, his ears and nose searching out to identify the person outside the door.

It’s Stiles, though he smells of blood and adrenaline, guilt and panic. And another person, a girl.

Derek flings the door open just as Stiles falls, and the girl catches him. She has bright red hair and blood streaked across her face, but she pushes past Derek with Stiles in her arms, stronger than she looks.

“You’re Derek?” she asks, her voice harsh and cold. Derek helps her lie Stiles on the couch.

“What happened to him?” he asks, surveying the blood on Stiles’s head and taking comfort in his even breaths.

The girl - it must be Stiles’s sister, Lydia - sits on the floor, slumping in exhaustion. Her breathing is laboured and ragged, as though she had been running.

“We haven’t got time,” she answers between breaths. “They’re coming.”

Derek crosses his arms. “Who’s coming? What madness have you brought to my door?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re defenseless.” She wipes her forehead and crawls to Stiles’s side, laying her hands on his chest.

Derek is about to ask her what she’s doing, until it becomes clear when she mutters something under her breath, and then Stiles is sucking in a breath and opening his eyes.

She’s a witch. There’s a witch in Derek’s house, in the home he had built for himself.

Before Derek can do anything, like rip her throat out, like throwing her away from Stiles, Stiles is talking a mile a minute, between gulps of panicked breath.

“Where are they? Did we lose them? Lydia, are you alright?” The concern for _Lydia_ is very real, and Stiles sits up, studying his sister. His sister is a _witch_.

“Get out,” Derek growls.

Stiles looks up at him for a split second, and stands up, only to go to the window, dismissing him completely. Lydia watches him.

“Get _out_ ,” Derek snaps. “You’re lucky I don’t tear your throat out for bringing her here.”

Stiles draws back from the window, and Derek can already hear the townspeople racing up the hill.

Stiles meets Derek’s eyes and they brighten, impossibly bright, a lighter colour than Derek’s ever seen them. He walks forward until they’re almost nose to nose, and Derek can feel the desperation and anger rolling off him in waves of emotion.

“They’re trying to kill _Lydia_ , Derek. Do you really think I’m going to let them?” Stiles says, his voice a fierce, living thing, biting at Derek with every word. “Because those monsters condemn us under their misguided beliefs and religion?”

The _us_ hits Derek and he flinches back, but it only makes Stiles angrier. “You’re a _hypocrite_ , Derek. They would just as soon as see you dead as they would see any witches burn! How do you think they would react when they find out a werewolf has been living among them?”

Derek isn’t even shocked that Stiles knew, because what _he_ was was infinitely worse. “Are you threatening me?”

Stiles rubs a hand down his face. “No. No, I’m trying to make you _understand_. You, of all people, should understand.”

“This is a waste of time, Stiles,” Lydia says. “Look at him. All he sees in us is is evil. We can’t rationalise against conditioned hatred like that.” Her tone is disgusted, like _Derek_ disgusts _her_.

Stiles’s eyes never leave Derek’s face. “I came here because you’re my friend, Derek. I have nowhere else to go.” His face falls. “I’m sorry for putting you in this position. I’m truly sorry.” His voice has that broken cadence to it that never failed to make Derek feel protective of him.

The townspeople are crowding around his house, Derek can hear them easily through the fast beating of his own heart. And, through the conflicted emotions that the Stilinski siblings were throwing out, Derek smells wolfsbane.

“You told them?” he accuses Stiles sharply, just as Stiles started turning away.

“Told who what?”

Derek jabs a finger towards the door. “They’ve got _wolfsbane_ , Stiles. They know I’m a werewolf. You _told_ them!” His anger fills the room and even Lydia flinches, even though he isn’t loud enough for anyone outside to hear.

Stiles’s eyebrows furrow. “I swear, I haven’t told them a thing. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity, running for my life and everything.” Stiles’s reciprocal anger bears an equal measure of hurt, and despite everything, Derek feels himself feeling guilty.

He looks to Lydia, who gazes cooly back at him. “It wasn’t me. They stuffed my mouth with sage and tied me to a stake until Stiles rescued me.” She shrugs. “And I didn’t realise you were a werewolf until I met you. Stiles keeps his precious things close to his heart.” She says this with a smirk, and she seems completely unconcerned in the situation they’re in.

“ _Lydia_ ,” Stiles snaps, yanking her to her feet. “Help me. We have to get out of here.” Stiles glances back at Derek. “All of us, apparently.”

Lydia nods, and they both kneel on the ground. Derek wants to look away, he does, but instead he watches with intrigue as Stiles and Lydia both mutter something under their breath, maybe in Latin. They open their eyes at the same time and Derek finds them glowing a gentle blue, before fading into their respective colours.

Before Derek can dwell on it, the ground opens up in a neat circle, the hard and stable dirt of Derek’s house parting to make way for a tunnel.

Derek backs away. “I’m not going in there,” he says. The smell of magic taints the air, tasting of the smell of Stiles’s skin It was hard not to inhale deeply, but he resisted.

Stiles rolls his eyes and stands, grabbing Derek’s arm in a strong grip. Derek would have tried to pull away, he would have attacked, but he’s still not entirely sure this isn’t all a dream.

The mob outside started shouting for them to come outside, and their voices were ugly with hate and bloodlust. Between facing that, and following Stiles, Derek’s choice was already made.

The tunnel only led out to the back of Derek’s house, which was disappointing. Once they get out, Derek hears a crash, and the mob stomping through his house with battle cries

Stiles’s hand migrated to Derek’s hand, and Derek’s mind was whirling with thought of pulling Stiles closer, or pushing him away. His mind was stuck between the two options, and he opted for doing nothing. His head was twisted in five different directions, so when he heard his dishes smashing, he felt nothing.

They stop at the hill, turning back briefly, despite Lydia’s urging.

Derek’s house was sitting there, as inconspicuous and peaceful as ever. But, as Derek watched, he could see the smoke pouring out of the windows, followed quickly by the lick of yellow flame.

Derek’s mouth went dry, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from the all-too-familiar scene.

“Derek?” Stiles asks softly, letting go of Derek’s hand to stand in front of him, blocking his view. “Derek, we have to go.”

“You did this,” Derek tells him hoarsely. “If it wasn’t for you - your kind - I would-”

“Stiles had no hand in this,” Lydia interrupted, stalking up to glare at Derek. “I’m sorry that your house is getting burned down by those bigoted assholes, I really am, but they _knew_ you’re a werewolf. They would have come for you whether we brought them or not.” Lydia stalked off down the hill, and Stiles walks after her.

“Do what you want from now, Derek,” Stiles calls back. It’s a dismissal, clear and simple. They don’t want Derek with them, tagging along. Derek doesn’t _want_ to tag along.

But he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. So he sighs, blocking out the roar of the flames and the cheers of the townspeople, and trudges after the two _witches_.

“Where are we going?”

If Stiles is surprised that Derek had followed them, he doesn’t show it. “Scott told me to meet him at yours. I doubt he will now, but he’ll find me. I just need to find some place that he’ll check.”

Lydia scoffs. “I know you think your bro-bond with McCall will overcome separation, but Stiles, the last time I saw him, he was captivated by the Argent girl.”

Derek almost trips. “ _Argent_?”

They both shoot looks at him. “Yeah, we know, the witch hunters. Scott said Miss Allison was nice though. She knew about us.”

Derek takes a second to process this. “The Argents are witches.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Did you hit your head on something?” Stiles asks with concern. “They’re witch _hunters_.”

Derek shakes his head, reaching out a hand to grab him, pulling him to a stop. “They’re witches. All of them.”

Lydia puts her hands on her hips. “And how do you know this?”

“Because Kate Argent killed my family while I watched,” Derek answers quietly.

“ _Shit_ ,” Stiles mutters. “This got a whole lot more complicated.”

* * *

They settle down at an abandoned hut a few minutes from town. It’s dilapidated and smells like rotten bread, and Lydia swears it’s haunted, but Stiles runs his hands along the doorframe with a smile, claiming that Scott could find them there. The sun is already rising, but it doesn't offer any comfort.

Derek is sitting in the opposite side of the room to the siblings, trying to block out the sound of their heartbeats. It was harder because he had memorised every jump and skip in Stiles’s heart.

Lydia glares at him often. Stiles doesn’t look at him at all, and his scent is cloyed with hurt.

“I’m going out there,” Lydia announces after half an hour of tense silence.

Stiles sighs, brushing a hand through his tangled hair. “Lydia, I swear to god-”

“You can’t stop me, Stiles,” she snaps.

Derek frowns. “Miss Stilinski, they’re running around out there with pitchforks and torches. They’ll kill you on sight.”

Lydia scowls at him. “Wouldn’t you just love that? See me and my brother roasting on a stake?” Derek flinches, and her expression softens. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rather trying day. And it’s Miss Martin,” she adds. “Stiles and I aren’t actually related.”

Stiles shrugs. He still hasn’t been able to look Derek in the eye. “She’s my sister in all but blood,” he explains, picking at his sleeve. He looks up at Lydia. “Where will you go?”

Lydia tosses her hair. “I’m going to find Deaton.”

“Deaton is three towns over,” he replies.

“Well, then I’d better get moving.” She picks up the bloodied and burnt tatters of her dress and makes for the door. “If I’m not back in three days, leave.” She looks at Derek. “And if Stiles turns up dead, you won’t be late in following.” She flounces out, slamming the door dramatically behind her.

“Is she going to be okay out there? On her own?” Derek asks Stiles.

Stiles scoffs. “She’s powerful. She can handle herself.” He leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

“What about you? Can you handle yourself?” Derek tells himself he’s not concerned or worried. He tells himself he doesn’t care.

Stiles is quiet for such a long time, that were it not for the quick beating of his heart, Derek would think him dead. “Yes,” he replies shortly. “I can handle myself fine.” The way he says it implies a larger story, a more in-depth explanation, but Derek doesn’t get one.

“What happened to your family?” Stiles asks instead, his voice soft and unprovoking.

Derek studies him. He’s pale, his freckles and the blood on the side of his head standing stark against his skin. He looks fragile, not like the witches Derek’s ever known. Derek’s still trying to fit the memories he has of Stiles in with the stereotype of a witch.

“A witch seduced me,” Derek says, pretending for a moment that Stiles was still the friend he knew. “And then burned my family house down.” _And forced me to watch._

“Kate Argent?” Stiles opens his eyes. “She’s an infamous witch hunter. She’s almost caught us a few times. What’s she doing hunting her own kind?”

Derek doesn’t have an answer, so he shrugs. But Stiles’s eyes are bright again, that clever glint that never failed to steal the breath from Derek.

“The Argents came to town just as the witches started getting prosecuted. If they’re practicing black magic, they could have… they could have framed innocent girls, Derek. Why are they here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even go into town,” Derek says defensively.

“Well, they obviously want something, so-” He cuts of, widening his eyes and swearing under his breath.

“What?”

Stiles stands up on shaky legs and waves a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to get some food.”

* * *

Stiles returns just when the shadows start to close in on Derek and make him angsty.

“So I would’ve caught some rabbits or something, but I don’t kill things,” Stiles says, dropping an armful of carrots and lettuces on the half-rotted table. “And I don’t really want to see you eat one raw.” His voice is chirpier, and he sounds stronger than he had been walking away.

Derek walks over to the vegetables. “You don’t kills things?” he asks doubtfully.

Stiles, instead of getting hurt and sulking, just grins at Derek, and it seems more real than any of the smiles he had given him over the course of their acquaintance. “I still hex people. I once cursed a guy who tried to grope Lydia with really bad acne. No woman would go near him after that.” He seems unconcerned that he was fitting into everyone’s stereotype of an evil witch, and Derek finds himself not caring anyway.

“What about self defense?” he asks, brushing the dirt from a carrot and trying to imagine eating it without washing it.

Stiles shrugs, tearing off a leaf of lettuce and shoving it in his mouth. “I _could_ kill, I suppose,” he mumbles. “But for me, it’s a little more complicated. I’d probably go insane or something if I killed someone. My magic is more unstable than your usual witch. At the moment, anyway.”

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “Because you’re a male witch?”

Stiles looks at him, studying him, as though he were contemplating how much he should trust Derek. Derek was doing the same thing. “Something like that, yeah.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying this to trick me?” Derek challenges.

Stiles snorts. “Right. So that you can trust me and I can stick a knife in your back? Come on, Derek, that sounds nothing like me.”

“I don’t know you anymore,” Derek replies, his words quiet.

Stiles’s hand stops halfway to a carrot, and he steps closer to Derek. Derek, despite himself, doesn’t feel the need to step away. “You know me, Derek,” Stiles says. “You _know_ me. I haven’t changed.” He sounds desperate, like he needs Derek to understand him.

Derek shakes his head, looking away. “All you’ve done is lie about who you are, Stiles.”

Stiles’s hand comes up slowly, as though not to spook a frightened animal, and he lifts Derek’s chin up to look at him, his fingers cool on Derek’s heated skin. The fingers leave quickly, but Stiles holds Derek’s gaze. “The side of myself that I showed you, Derek, was probably the truest part of me. Underneath all the magic, I’m still just a man.” Stiles’s eyes search Derek’s face. “Show me your eyes, Derek.”

Derek pulls away. “No,” he replies shortly. He won’t show them to anyone, not even his reflection.

“Derek,” Stiles urges softly. “Please.”

They stare at each other a moment longer, Stiles’s expression open and imploring, and then Derek flashes them. He supposes they’re blue, but he hasn’t seen them in years.

Stiles’s eyes glow blue in response, the exact same shade, and he smiles. “You see? We aren’t as different as you would like to think.”

Derek couldn’t identify the emotions running through him at that moment, being so close to Stiles, like all those times Stiles had visited his farm for a certain herb or produce. They’re so big that they scare him, and he brushes a shaky hand through his hair. “What are you doing to me?”

“What?”

“Why… Why are you making me feel these _things_ , Stiles? Have you been playing with me this whole time? Playing with my emotions?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I haven’t been doing anything to you.”

“Bullshit,” Derek snaps.

The air in the room grows colder. “I swear it. The only magic I’ve used around you is to make your crops grow!” Stiles takes a step away. “How could you think that I would… You know what? Screw you, buddy. I’m sick of walking in circles around you.” His words are sharp and annoyed, and his shoulders are tense, as though he’s preparing for a fight. “You _feel_ something for me? Wow, it must be sorcery! Because - what? I’m not good enough for your feelings, Derek?” he snarls.

Derek realises his mistake too late, he let his emotions get the better of him. Stiles is closing off, and it was hard to remember that they had just been standing so close moments before, that Stiles’s eyes had been warm and his smile inviting.

“Stiles, I-”

“You should go,” Stiles says, resigned.

“No,” Derek says firmly.

Stiles glares at him. “Well, I’m not leaving.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Neither am I.”

He can feel the frustration in the room, and the annoyance.

Stiles groans. “You’re being unreasonable. You’ve been nothing but unreasonable.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek blurts out. “I - I didn’t mean to…”

Stiles flops onto the bed. “You’re not the first to lose faith in me, Derek. I’ll get over it.”

The ensuing silence is awkward, and just as Derek takes the time to order his thoughts again, to explain himself better, there’s a loud bang on the door.

Stiles is up immediately, and both he and Derek give each other wary looks.

“Stiles?” a muffled voice calls through the door.

They both relax; Scott’s voice is a welcome reprieve from the angry shouts of the townspeople.

Stiles opens the door, and is met with a hug, Scott’s arms wrapping around his best friend tightly.

Derek doesn’t mind Scott; he’s nice enough, and they’d known each other before Stiles came to town. Nobody thought he would outlast his teenage years with his troubled breathing, but when Stiles arrived, Scott was the first person he treated.

There’s a dark-haired girl behind Scott, and she smells familiar, but before Derek can identify it, Scott’s looking at him.

“Hey, Derek. I heard you’re a werewolf,” Scott says casually. “Cool.”

The girl shifts awkwardly, her eyes intent on Derek. They’re hard and wary.

“This is Allison,” Scott explains, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the hut. “She’s found a place for us.”

Stiles smiles at Allison, who grins back. “It’s nice to see you again, Doctor,” she says. She curtsies at Derek. “And it’s nice to meet you, Derek.”

Derek nods, but doesn’t smile. She’s the Argent girl Scott’s besotted with. “Are you a witch too?”

Stiles rubs at his temples, and Scott’s smile wavers, but Allison meets Derek’s eyes cooly. “No. I only found out what my family are up to yesterday. They tried to force me to join them. I refused.”

Scott grins dopily at her, and Stiles whacks him on the shoulder. “Where is this place we’re going to?”

“It’s on the other side of the town. We’ve got people out for your blood, so we have to sneak around Salem. From there, we can lay low until - Where’s Lydia?”

“She went to find our mentor,” Stiles replies. “I’ll leave her a message, don’t worry.”

“If anyone finds the message-” Derek starts.

“It’ll be a magic message,” Stiles reassures. “No one but her will be able to read it.” He crosses back over to the bed, and lays a hand on it. After a few seconds, a sort of golden sheen washes over it, before fading into the dull, mouldy sheets. Stiles turns around and claps his hands together. “Shall we go?”

Scott nods and wrenches the door open. The moment that he does, Derek smells it, but by the time he does, Scott and Allison have already stepped out, and it’s too late.

The hut is surrounded.

* * *

Derek glares at her. _Kate_. The she-devil is still prancing around, with her smug smiles and her detestable voice.

“Allison, we’re all very disappointed in you,” she purrs. “Fraternising with… _these_. But at least you lead us here, I'll grant you that.” She casts disgusted looks at all of them. Her eyes don’t linger on Derek at all, as though he’s nothing to her.

Derek’s claws poke into his palm.

“Kate,” Stiles says, grabbing her attention. “We know you’re a witch.”

One of the men with a crossbow shifts his aim to Stiles, but Kate holds up her hand. “Doctor Stilinski, it truly is an honour to meet you.”

Stiles sighs. “Yeah, sure. Can you spare me the villainous monologue and get on to setting us free?”

Kate purses her lips, and tilts her head. “You see, I _would_ , but I’ve been searching for something for a while now, and now that I’ve finally found it, I’m not giving it up.”

Stiles goes pale, and Scott and Allison glance at him, looking confused. Derek steps slightly closer to him.

“You do know how powerful you are, don’t you? An emissary without a…” She casts a look at Derek, “ _proper_ pack. You’re a bundle of delicious, unfettered power.” Kate slides a knife out of her boot and waves it at Stiles. “If you come with me willingly, I will let your friends go. Except you, Allison. You’ve made your dear old grandfather rather angry.”

Allison spits at Kate’s feet. “I’m not your family. I want no part in your family.”

Derek takes another step closer to Stiles, not liking how edgy the man with the crossbow looks. The word _emissary_ is still echoing through his head. Stiles wasn’t a witch, he was the purest form of magic in this world. An emissary was rare, and precious. Of course Stiles was one of them.

The crossbow immediately swivels to land on Derek.

Stiles glances at him and shakes his head slightly, before turning back to Kate. “I won’t. My magic doesn’t belong to you, and it doesn’t belong to me. It’s the earth’s power, and it will return to the earth. Kill me now, or leave us alone. I’m not giving it to you.”

Kate doesn’t look deterred. She’s thoughtful, her eyes landing on Derek longer than they had this whole time. He flashes his eyes blue at her, and she smirks. “I see.”

In a split second, Derek’s on his knees, some force tugging him to the ground. When he tries to growl, when he tries to snarl at Kate, his throat chokes up, and Kate’s eyes are black. Her hand is splayed toward him, holding him down.

He can’t breathe.

Stiles is on his knees next to Derek, his hands on Derek’s shoulders, his eyes travelling over his body. His eyes light up blue, and his hands warm up though Derek’s shirt. “No, no, no.  _S_ _hit_.” He looks up at Derek. “I can’t…”

Kate laughs, and Stiles turns to her. “Stop it,” he orders. “Don’t touch him.”

She shrugs. “He’s not that special anyway. Been there, done that.”

Stiles stands up, his hands clenched. “Let him go.”

There are black spots swimming in Derek’s vision, and a roaring in his ears.

“I already told you, Stiles. I’ll let Derek and Scott go, if you come with me.”

Stiles glances back at Derek, and Derek has just enough strength to shake his head, but he can’t say anything.

“And Allison.”

Kate wavers for a second, before waving a hand. “Fine. I was only going to kill her, anyway.”

“Stiles, _don’t_ ,” Scott pleads, his voice breaking with desperation. “You can - you can fight her, can’t you?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Not without a pack, Scott.” he replies. His voice is strong, but Derek doesn’t believe it. He can smell the fear, and he struggles to stand up. Even as he does, he can’t move a muscle. He still can’t breathe.

Derek is released the moment that Stiles steps to Kate, and he grabs Stiles’s arm, yanking him behind him.

He glares at Kate defiantly. “I promised I would rip your throat out,” he growls around his fangs.

Stiles struggles in Derek’s grip, but Derek isn’t letting him walk away from him again.

“Derek, you can certainly try,” Kate responds. “But, I mean, I killed your whole pack. I think I can handle a lowly omega.”

Derek snarls at her. He can feel her magic, and it slides around him like a slimy worm, wrapping around him. It’s nothing like Stiles’s bright power.

Stiles stops struggling and grabs Derek’s hand instead, and the grip was grounding, if a little tight.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers breathlessly. “Do you trust me?”

Derek squeezes his hand in response. Kate’s eyes flicker to black, and she raises her hand again.

The hand in his grows hotter again, to the point of burning. But instead of pain, Derek feels it fill his veins with an unknown kind of strength, feeding the wolf in him. Kate falters.

“You… Your-”

Derek lets go of Stiles and lets his claws free, advancing on Kate, who falls back. Her face is pale with fear, and she’s shaking her head. “No, that’s not possible.”

Derek responds by grabbing her throat and lifting her up. The very touch of her skin angers him more, and the strength that Stiles gave him is rearing for a fight.

Kate struggles, her eyes turning black and back again. She scrabbles at his hand, just like her magic scrabbles at Derek, trying to tear him down. It does nothing.

Derek squeezes harder. He feels something cracking. He drops her to the ground.

She doesn’t move. The air is still.

Allison walks up, tears in her eyes as she kneels beside her aunt’s body. She closes those black eyes with a shaking hand, and Scott pulls her into a hug.

Derek stands there, staring at her. She’s finally dead, the woman that destroyed his life and his happiness. She was dead, and he didn’t know how to feel. Relieved? Sick? Empty?

Stiles’s hand rests on Derek’s shoulder, his head close enough for Derek to feel his breath against his neck.

They all look around, at the men still surrounding them. The man with the crossbow hefts it up to his shoulder. Derek can’t see his face.

The men with swords look at each other. Derek notices the tensing of muscles and resolve that results in fighting. There’s too many of them.

That is, until a few of them a flung away by a great and sudden wind, and Lydia walks through the gap, another man at her side. The men train their weapons on them.

Lydia waves a careless hand, and the weapons heat up, burning a steady orange. The weapons are dropped with cries of pain.

It’s a simple solution to their problem, and Stiles wasn’t lying about Lydia being able to handle herself. Stiles would be able to do that and more, if he had a pack.

“Well, it looks like you didn’t need our help after all,” Lydia announces, her hand resting on her hip.

“We’ve still got a whole town of bigots back there,” Stiles says. “You could kill them, too.”

She tosses her hair. “I think maybe it’s time to go, don’t you? Deaton has kindly arranged for us to live in his town.”

Deaton eyes up Kate’s body. “It’s going to be more complicated to introduce a new Alpha to our community.”

Derek tilts his head and sniffs the air. There’s no one else around. He would know if an Alpha was nearby, he’d feel it in his bones.

Stiles steps forward and scratches at his neck. “It was an accident?”

“What are you talking about?” Scott asks. “And Alpha _werewolf_?”

Deaton nods in Derek’s direction. “Only an Alpha werewolf would be able to take on a witch as powerful as Katherine Argent. I had previously thought that emissaries with the ability to make alphas were a myth, but it seems you continuously strive to prove me wrong, Stiles.”

Derek looks at Stiles, who’s looking back at him sheepishly. “Surprise?”

“You made me an Alpha?” The strength running through him, the power of an Alpha?

Stiles grins. “I kind of needed a pack, so I made one.” He shrugs.

Derek gives him a small smile, even though the happiness he was feeling was overwhelming. Stiles gave him all this power, he gave him the ability to create packs and took away the loneliness and emptiness of an omega, and he’s standing there as though it wasn’t a big deal.  “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, lord,” Lydia mutters.

Derek ignores her and does what he’s been wanting to do for too long. Pulling Stiles to him, pressing their lips together, it was like the weight on his shoulders had been lifted.

Stiles is smiling, and kissing him back, and Derek huffs a laugh against his lips. It felt like the excitement of starting something new, with Stiles in his arms. Like the buzz of promises to be kept.

When they pull away, which is entirely too soon, Stiles asks, “That isn’t just some gratitude thing, right?”

“No. It’s just you, Stiles,” Derek replies softly.

Lydia groans. “One moment, he wants to rip Stiles’s throat out. The next, they’re making out. This whole affair reeks of impropriety,” she complains.

Stiles smiles. “That’s great. That’s… uh, that’s nice. Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while, and it’s nice to know it’s reciprocated.”

“This is great and all,” Scott interrupts loudly, “but we should go before they bring reinforcements.”

Stiles smirks at Derek and raises his eyebrows. “Will you run away with me, Derek?”

Derek pretends to think about it for a moment, but, as usual when it comes to Stiles, there is no decision that needs to be made. “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [tumblr](http://desperauxx.tumblr.com/), if you wanna chat? That'd be cool, I'm always looking for new friends. And thanks for reading!


End file.
